Harry Potter and The Emerald Eyed Stag
by emerald-eyed-stag
Summary: Harry, Ron and Hermione have left Hogwarts in search of the horcruxes. this is my version of the next instalement, please r&r! HG HrR RT


The Emerald Eyed stag 

A/N: yes! This is it! The story that inspired my name! Lol, not Ella, emerald-eyed-stag, the last chapter of this story was the first fan fiction chapter that I ever wrote.

So yes, I am named after the story, the story isn't named after me! Haha.

_**So, please give me a review. I am going to try and keep to this story loyally, and please review, I'll write back if I can! This is my version of the seventh book, and I hope that you all enjoy. R&R1**_

_**Luv Ella Evans xXx**_

Harry groaned, and woke up, his eyes fluttering at first, and the snapping wide open.

Instantly he was wide-awake. He was always alert, these days, it seemed. He didn't mean to be. It wasn't a conscious decision that he made, to be awake and alert at odd hours of the night, wondering if the creaks and splutters he could hear through the house were death eaters.

Harry had just become this way. He looked down at Ron, who was lying on his floor, on a mattress that he had laid there, and his thoughts drifted to Hermione; who was staying in Dudley's room. Dudley's _old_ room.

Harry's cousin had left to live in America, much to Harry's relief, and when he had come back to privet Dr for the last time in his life, with his two best friends in tow, it was with great satisfaction that he realised his aunt and uncle wouldn't be able to used the excuse that he would make and influence on their precious Ikle Dudlikins, who, without their realising it, had turned into a seventeen year old man, and a large one at that.

They did, upon Harry's arrival; attempt to throw him back out on the street, convinced that now he was almost of age he could take care of himself. If Dudley had left home then they certainly didn't see the point of still having Harry around.

But Ron, and Hermione, who had already come of age, produced their wands, and Hermione, in the politest of voices, requested that they be allowed to stay on a room for three nights, to prolong Harry's protection and give them a break from the wedding preparations at the same time. Things at the Burrow were understandably hectic.

Uncle Vernon was not impressed, of course. At first, he slammed the door in all three of their faces, causing Pigwideon to squeal loudly in his cage, and Crookshanks growl and hiss.

Suddenly, Aunt Petunia's bonny face appeared between the slats in the blinds, and her lips were pursed tighter together than anything that had haunted Harry's childhood, a feat he would not have thought possible.

Hermione, Harry and Ron had not pocketed their wands. She could see them clear as day. The robes too. And the red haired boys clothes weren't exactly what one liked to call Privet Dr material in any case. Petunia weighed up her options. She could let them stand, like that, on her doorstep for the next three days, causing the most horrid rumours amongst the neighbours. Or, if she acted quickly, she could stamp on any such suspicion and keep them locked in the house until they left on Friday.

Scurrying to the front door, Petunia cringed, and let in her nephew and his friends, dreading the moment that Vernon would come down the stairs and discover three wizards hauling their belongings up the staircase.

And so Hermione had gotten Dudley room, and Ron was living on Harry's floor, which was admittedly larger than the cupboard under the stairs. Harry was slowly packing up his belongings, or what there was of them. He found things to pack up, which surprised him. Over the few years that he had been living in this room, his belongings had grown from the cupboard worth he existed sadly on for his childhood to random scatterings of his life, hidden in odd places of this room he never truly considered his.

There was the stack of calendars in the bottom drawer of his dresser, which he kept each year, counting down the days until he returned to Hogwarts. One of them, the one he had kept between his fourth and fifth year was no longer a paper in the stack, but shameful shavings of paper that he had ripped up in frustration while he was waiting for replies from his friends. The childish handwriting and clever pictures that donned the first calendar, surrounded in snitches and broom sticks and was followed by another that held the Gryffindor emblem, something that Harry had decided to draw in all the soar time he had had and never gotten around to finishing. The last week wasn't crossed off, after he had fled to the Leaky Cauldron, and the paper had a bite out of the top right hand corner from when it had been shut up in his trunk with the Monster Book Of Monsters.

The next calendar was a little different. The numbers were scrawled on it quick and nervously, as though he didn't have time to write it, when memory served that Harry had, in fact, had all the time in the world. He was nervous, that break, because of the events of the last moment of his third year at school. This calendar was also not totally crossed off. There was a quick scrawl across the last two weeks that read QUIDDTCH in large bold font that made Harry smile when he dug it out.

The calendar between fifth and sixth was drawn in thick, heavy lines, every number written out dutifully, as though Harry was trying to emphasise, slowly, that he knew what he was doing. The numbers, counting until his days of happiness were like a reminder that he was doing this for his own good, even if it was frustrating. The rest of the paper, however, remained crisp and blank, blocking out the rest of the world like Harry had tried to hard to do.

This year, just for traditions sake, Harry had taken a sheet of paper and written three numbers on it. One, two and three. Next to the three-month long sheets he had drawn up in the past it looked almost comical, but Harry wanted to do it. Now, the letters were big, bold and dark, thick lined. Ron didn't seem to get what he was doing, but he didn't ask questions. Hermione cocked her head to one side, watching him as he pinned the monument up on his cupboard doors and stared at it, almost proudly. He pursed her lips together, as though she were assessing him worriedly. Ron had thrown her a highly inquisitive look, but Hermione had just shaken her head dismissively, leaving Harry alone for a moment. Ron followed.

And now it was the middle of the night, and Harry was panicking because the noise outside his room was, this time, most certainly not a figment of his imagination.

It wasn't just creaking this time. Harry could hear the footsteps. Surely, surely they couldn't be here. He was protected…if he wasn't then there wasn't any point to the traumatisation of his childhood, and that would be more than he could bare…

The footsteps stopped. They froze, and Harry could see a figure standing outside the doorway, their shadow illuminated by the light of the room down the hall. Harry relaxed slightly, and he didn't know why. These feet had just confirmed his belief that there was someone outside his bedroom, but something about them wasn't sinister of scary in anyway. They were small feet, and they tread lightly, pausing tentatively on tiptoes. Harry pretended to be sleeping, not wanting the person outside the room to know that he was aware of their presence.

The door opened a tiny bit. Harry saw Hermione's hand creep around the side of the doorframe. Her fingers were slender, and delicate. She rested them on the panelling as though she knew that someone was watching.

Ron flickered to life, and instantly, Harry knew that his friend hadn't been sleeping at all.

Ron crept up, and slipped out the door. Harry snorted into his pillow, and couldn't control his laughter for quite some time. When it finally died down, and Harry realised that he had tears rolling down his face from trying to keep silent while expressing uncontrollable hysteria. Suddenly he was grateful to his friends. He hadn't laughed like that for a long time.

In the morning, Harry awoke to find Ron sleeping soundly in his bed. The only thing different from the night before was that Ron was now smiling in his sleep, no doubt in Harry's mind why, and snoring slightly. Harry grinned, and stepped out of bed.

He journeyed down the stairs and into the living room, to find that Hermione was already at the stove, cooking breakfast, scrambled eggs, toast and bacon on the fry pan, which she had conjured up herself. Aunt petunia hadn't seen the magic being performed, of course, but she knew that they had to have come from somewhere. She cringed as she watched them sizzling in the frypan. Vernon Dursley was already at work.

There was nothing quite like the smell of magic cooked bacon. It was always perfect, and Hermione was an expert on it, having studied the cooking spells book when she was at the Burrow last, after reading the rest of the material in the entire household. The smell seemed to attract people like flies, and it rested on your tongue blissfully.

Harry was about to sit down, when he noticed the look on Aunt petunia's face. It was a strange expression, one that, in all his time knowing his aunt, Harry had never experienced.

Petunia was smiling. Not the forced, sickly sweet, adoring smile that she wore when discussing her son, of the smirk that she donned when she was giving Harry a particularly gruelling task to complete, but a small, contented smile. Petunia breathed in deeply, and let out a long, soothing breath. She looked very peaceful, and relaxed, which was unusual to say the least.

Harry and Hermione exchanged looks.

Ron came down to breakfast, a few minutes after Harry, humming softly under his breath, and smiling to himself. Harry snorted when he entered the room. Hermione smiled.

"Morning!" she greeted him brightly. Now that Harry knew that they were sneaking around he could see the mechanical formality that they used when they were in his presence. He cursed himself for being so stressed out and worried about things that had happened in the past, and what was to come that he didn't notice how oddly they were behaving. Ron gave her a wave, wiping the smile from his face with an obvious effort, and plastering it back on when Hermione looked back at the food she was cooking, and resuming the constant humming. He took at seat at the table next to Harry, and raised his eyebrows when he saw petunia. He, Harry and Hermione exchanged shocked glances.

"Uh, have you changed your mind Mrs Dursley? Would you like some?" Hermione asked Petunia when she served up Harry and Ron breakfast. Aunt Petunia shook her head, as though reprimanding herself, and stared out the window, a sad, reminiscent gleam in her dark, beady eyes.

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked, dishing out some to herself, but leaving enough for Harry's aunt on the fry pan. "There's plenty. It's cooked by magic, and I know that you don't like that, but I promise you, I haven't done anything to it. Nothing that could hurt you." She explained, and petunia shook her head. She was still smiling, and Hermione found that strange, and a little off-putting. Then, in a sudden snap, Petunia changed her mind.

"Oh, alright then." She said quickly, and Hermione kindly served her breakfast. "Just don't tell Vernon."

Harry's mouth dropped open. In all his year of breakfast with the Dursley, Aunt Petunia had never eaten as much food as she was scoffing down now. She often didn't eat breakfast at all.

The meal passed in silence, apart from the odd giggle from Hermione, and, once, Ron, when their hands met over the orange juice. Ron tried to cover his giggle up with a very deep and manly cough, but Harry was not fooled. He knew what was going on.

Aunt Petunia finished first. This was strange, because she had twice as much to eat. She was smiling kindly at Hermione, too, by the time that she had finished.

"You make it just as well as he used to, and that's saying a lot." She praised Hermione, mysteriously. Hermione glanced at Harry, who shrugged.

"As who used too?" Hermione pressed, leaning in, and looking at Aunt Petunia's wistful expression.

"Sirius black. Oh, he used to make me laugh."

Harry's scrambled eggs dropped from his fork and onto the floor, not bothering to reach his mouth.

Aunt Petunia appeared to regret the confession as soon as the words left her mouth. Harry stared at her, in utter shock and disbelief, and Ron gapped, amazed. Hermione's eyes were wider than galleons, staring and unblinking. Aunt Petunia sighed, looked around at the three of them, and then up at the picture of herself, Dudley and Vernon that sat atop the fridge.

"Yes, I knew Sirius. Of course I knew Sirius, how could I not? They would have parties. And I would, as Lily's sister, attend. I went to their wedding, and he was the best man, I was the maid of honour. It wasn't until I met Vernon that I was cut off from Lily. I wanted to be normal, and block all that out,. He would never love me if he knew that my sister was a witch. All that went out the drain, of course, when James wore dress robes to our engagement party, but from that moment on I swore that I would never mention Lily or James again, especially when I was around Vernon. Least of all Sirius. I'll always remember his bacon and eggs. He couldn't cook, but for that, and it was his pride and joy. The four of us took a trip one year, and he would cook every morning. Then they started be all dangerous, getting involved in that war that they said was going on, and I never saw them anymore. That was when I met Vernon, and we fell in love. When I saw Lily next it was like we were different people." Petunia looked into the distance, almost scared of herself, and scared, at the same time, to look at the expression on Harry's face.

Harry was furious. All his life, this was what he had wanted; stories, about his parents, and Sirius, and his parents friends. He had never gotten anything, and now, when he was finally leaving Privet Dr, Aunt Petunia seemed to know more than he had ever discovered.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?' Harry growled, through gritted teeth. "Why didn't you tell me anything? He died! Did you know that? Did you even care that he was dead?"

Hermione put a hand on Harry's shoulder and lowered him back into his chair. Harry couldn't remember standing, and leaning down at Petunia in such a menacing way, but she looked terrified, and sorry.

Ron was staring back and forth, as though watching a tennis match.

"We were together for a while, actually, me and Sirius." She confessed, her face looking softer than it ever had, going slightly red. Hermione gasped. Ron almost laughed, as he noticed why. Aunt Petunia, the fussy, nosy woman who Harry had loathed so much throughout his childhood, together with the man with mattered hair that had lived on rats for him? It didn't seem to make any sense at all.

"Yes, I know what you're thinking, but I was quite different back then." She explained. "But I don't think he ever really loved me. His parents couldn't stand the fact that he was with a muggle, and that was what made him want me, I was sure of it, no matter how many times he assured me that that wasn't the case."

"But you never told me." Harry repeated, in almost a whisper. "You made my life hell…"

"I couldn't stand the fact that you reminded me of them. Of all of them. Of Sirius, who broke my heart, and of Lily, who was the freak who made me an outsider all through high school. Everyone always wondered where my sister went all year, and she didn't bother to hide her wand much in the holidays. And then, after school, I hated her for not being normal when she came back, and I hated James for taking her away. This is my life now Harry, and the woman you have known all your life is who I really am. This is who I used to be, and that's not going to change. If your uncle found out that I was telling this to you all then I'd hate to think of what he would do…"

Harry gave a small nod, and Hermione a tiny smile. Ron was still absolutely gob smacked.

"And so why are you telling me now?" Harry asked. A crease appeared in Aunt Petunia's forehead, and she still managed to give Harry a small smile.

"I don't know. I was reminded of him, and, I wanted you to know."

Harry stood up. He wasn't so hungry anymore. He turned, and went to leave the room. Hermione and Ron followed, awkwardly.

"Harry?" Petunia asked, when he was almost out the door. She wasn't smiling anymore, and he could see, by the light that flooded the kitchen from the small window over the sink, that her eyes were shining with tears.

"I did care that he died."

Harry continued to walk, but, for some reason, he wasn't so mad anymore.

A/N: And there it is. The first chappie! Hope you enjoyed! Please send me PM or a review! It really makes my day, you have no idea!

Thanks, luv Ella xXx 


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